From the Inside
by WinterStorrm
Summary: When Harry and Draco accidentally swap bodies it immediately turns into a competitive wager between them as to who can best play the other. Draco soon finds out that that isn't anywhere near as much fun as it sounds.


**Title:** From the Inside  
**Pairing: **Draco/Harry  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: 10,900  
**Warnings**: None  
**Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein belong JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this endeavour.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for hd_smoochfest 2012  
Beta read by singlemomsummer, edited since, mistakes all mine.  
**Summary:** When Harry and Draco accidentally swap bodies it immediately turns into a competitive wager between them as to who can best play the other. Draco soon finds out that that isn't anywhere near as much fun as it sounds.

"Potter, you _idiot,_" Draco barked impatiently, elbowing Harry sideways so he could have his moment in front of the mirror. "Get out of my way, let me see…oh Salazar—" The reflection showed him the awful truth. Gone was his perfectly coiffed blond hair and flawless pale skin—the person who stared back at him from the mirror was a couple of inches shorter, stockier, darker skinned with ugly glasses framing bright green eyes and hair that looked like it'd been in a fight with a dragon and lost. It was the face of Harry Potter. Draco had become _Harry Potter_.

"This is just brilliant," Harry huffed next to him, and Draco was scared to look, because although he knew it was Harry speaking, it was his voice he heard. "I told you not to open that box until we knew what it was, but no, you know best don't you? And now look at us!"

Did his voice always sound that whiny or was it just the Harry-effect? "Why don't you stop trying to place the blame—" Draco was never going to admit that maybe on this occasion it might have been his fault. Perhaps opening the box hadn't been the brightest idea he'd ever had—and really, as a Malfoy, he should know better than to touch things he didn't understand. Still, he couldn't be held accountable for losing his concentration around Harry, the bloke was a walking disaster and how the hell he'd managed to off the Dark Lord was anyone's guess, and his arse in those jeans he was wearing... "—and think of a way to put this right!"

"You're the idiot if you think it's going to be something simple; Snape had all kind of things in here, who knows why he had that thing?" Draco gave up on avoiding looking at Harry, even though seeing his own lips and hands move when he wasn't the one in control of them was something he'd never get used to. He hoped he'd never have to. "I'll ask Hermione," Harry said, chewing his lip—chewing _Draco's_ lip!

"Would you mind not gnawing on me, Potter?"

"What? Oh." Harry rolled his eyes but didn't resume the lip chewing.

"And you will _not_ tell Granger about this. We'll work it out ourselves. It's bad enough being stared at and whispered about everywhere I go as it is—if this gets out I'll be a laughing stock!"

"And I won't?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "Who's going to laugh at the boy who lived twice? No, this will all be my fault as the evil Death Eater Slytherin. You'll come out smelling of roses, I'll end up smelling of shit like I always do." He turned back to the mirror and pulled despondently on the lapel of Harry's cheap robes. "No, we tell no one."

"But—" Harry pulled a face that Draco had never seen on himself before: complete confusion. "You're saying I have to pretend to be you—that we pretend to be each other?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"There's no way that my friends won't realise there's something wrong with me—you couldn't play me if your life depended on it!"

Draco snorted. "You're an open book, Harry. I could be you like that." He snapped his fingers and raised an eyebrow at Harry in challenge. "Poor Harry, it must be so hard to be adored by everyone."

"Sod you, Draco—you know nothing about me!" Harry snapped. "I bet you I'll do a better job of being you than you will of doing me—walking around like there's a bad smell under your nose all day? Easy."

Draco knew he shouldn't rise to it, knew Harry was just reacting to his sharp words—the both of them could be very hot-headed and it hadn't take long for temperatures to rise—but he couldn't help it. "You bet me do you?" He reared himself up to his full—Harry's—height and folded his arms. "Okay, a hundred galleons says that the first person to be rumbled by the other's friends won't be me."

Draco watched with glee as Harry's emotions chased across his own familiar features. If there was anything that would win Draco this bet it was Harry's inability to keep his emotions to himself. "I—" Harry began, rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger before pulling his hand from his face and holding it up in front of him and studying it through narrowed eyes before they widened and flashed in a return challenge. "Only a hundred galleon's, Draco? How boring. Let's make this more interesting—a hundred galleons _and_ the loser has to be the other's servant for two months."

The look in his eyes was one that Draco knew well—those were his eyes after all. Harry didn't think that was a bet that Draco would take. Malfoy's served no one—well, thanks to his father, the exception there was the Dark Lord—Malfoy's employed others to serve them and not the other way around. Suddenly, unbidden, an image of Harry wearing nothing other than an apron lifting Draco's feet up from the floor where he sat reading the Sunday Prophet so that he could dust underneath them. Damn. "Done," he said hastily. "Prepare to lose, _Potter_." He pushed the image to the back of his mind and hoped it would stay there.

"As if, _Malfoy_," Harry replied, his lips curving into a smirk. "Now, if it's okay with you, I'll be going to the library to see if I can find out what this bloody box is—because as satisfying as it will be to beat you in this wager— if we can be back in our own bodies sooner rather than later then that's a better bet to me."

**:::::**

It had sounded easier when it was just theory. Finding yourself in the middle of the Gryffindor common room for the first time—surrounded by actual _Gryffindors_—was actually rather intimidating, especially when you realise you don't know most of their names, and it seemed that everyone wanted to talk to you.

"Hey, Harry, how's it going?" said a vaguely familiar dark haired girl, sidling up to him and batting her eyelashes. "How about we go into Hogsmeade on Saturday? I hear that the new tea shop is _to die for_."

Draco eyed her up and down. Not bad—if one liked girls that was—and Draco most certainly did not fall into that category. This wasn't about him though was it? Would _Harry _like Miss whatever-her-name was and accept an invite to go to Hogsmeade? Wasn't he dating the Weasley girl? Draco really should have asked more questions before heading for the Lion's Den. Shit—if Harry was dating the Weasley girl—ew, then Draco might be getting more than he'd bargained for when he demanded that Harry tell no one, and worse, bet him that he could play him for longer than Harry could play at being Draco Malfoy undetected.

"Er, thanks for the invite but I'm busy this weekend," Draco said, looking over her shoulder—Merlin but this place was hideous—in the hope of seeing Ron Weasley, marvelling at the irony of that. He didn't know where Harry slept but he'd put money on him sharing a dorm with Weasley.

"Busy doing what exactly?" the girl asked, drawing Draco's attention back towards her. "You never go into Hogsmeade this year, you always stay behind here—you—"

"It's not really any of your business now is it?" Draco snapped, taking a step back from her—when had she got so close anyway? There was something a little wild in her eyes as she gave him the top-to-toe.

"Romilda, Harry's never going to say yes," said a familiar voice from behind him, and a hand curved around his upper arm to draw him away. "Harry, you're too polite—instead of making excuses you should just say that you don't want to go with her. At least then she might back off."

It was Granger. Draco let himself be led across the room towards the fireplace, trying not to cringe at the acres and acres of red and gold décor. How would Harry respond to what she'd just said? "I don't like to offend people."

Granger shot him an amused look. "Since when?"

Draco decided to keep quiet. Perhaps being Harry wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. He really didn't know Harry that well at all, did he? So they'd spent a fair amount of time together these last few weeks, tasked by McGonagall to sort through Severus' private collection of magical artefacts. Severus had left all of his possessions jointly to himself and Harry. When Draco had first heard that he'd been incredulous—Severus had hated Harry and everything he'd stood for, hadn't he? Draco had fumed silently about it to start with, and when he and Harry met in Severus' old quarters that first time he'd been wound up and ready to attack. Only Harry hadn't behaved as he'd expected. He'd sucked in a deep breath and scanned the room—piled top to toe in books and trinkets and _things_ that Sev had loved—and instead of the expected hatred, Harry had sighed and ran a hand over the binding of a book on Sev's desk and said, "Such a brave man."

Draco's selection of sarcastic retorts has died in his throat. Harry looked like he actually _cared_ about Sev. When he'd asked why Harry had talked about his mother and Severus' friendship and things had slotted into place.

Granger sat on a sofa near the fire and Draco sat down beside her, staring into the flames and wondering what the hell he had got himself into. "How's it going with Draco?" Granger asked when they'd settled down.

Draco dredged up what he hoped would be a Harry-like response. "Still a total git," he mumbled, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Oh? I thought you said he wasn't so bad? You've been really enjoying yourself—and you know how worried we've been—this thing with Draco is the only thing that you've been motivated about since we came back to Hogwarts. I hate seeing you so unhappy, Harry." Oh shit, Granger had taken his hand. Draco's first instinct was to recoil but Harry would never do that, so he managed to resist the urge.

"That's not true," he protested, thinking of Harry's motivation when spending time with him. When he was with him Harry gave as good as he got. He was endlessly fascinated by Sev's collection and had taken to spending hours in the library researching—of his own accord. Draco would often join him and together they had spent hours huddled over old tomes. Hours that Draco enjoyed more than the time he spent _not_ doing that. Perhaps he should consider a career in magical artefact research—Merlin knew he needed to start thinking about a career in something. "And I'm not unhappy."

"Alright, Harry," Weasley interrupted, flopping down into an adjacent armchair and blowing his fringe out of his eyes. "Have you been with Draco again?" The tone of his voice was one of clear implication that he believed there was more to Harry and Draco's spending time together than there actually was.

"Ron—" Granger began, a clear warning in her voice.

"What?" Weasley said with false innocence. "Can't a bloke tease his best mate?"

"I'm tired," Draco said, hoping that Weasley would take the cue. "Time for bed."

He nearly sagged in relief when Weasley said, standing up, "Yeah, me too—I'll come up with you. Night, Hermione." Weasley stooped to kiss Granger's cheek and he headed towards the stairs on the far side of the room.

Draco stood to follow. "Goodnight," he said, forcing a smile at Granger and following Weasley up the stairs, trying not to gawp at all the new sights as he ascended and found himself in a very red and gold dormitory. Five beds. Two had drawn curtains and a wall of silence surrounding them—as all teenage boys' beds did in shared dormitories—Weasley flopped down on a third bed which left two for Draco to fathom out which one was Harry's.

In the end it was easy. One bed had a plant beside it and a teetering pile of Herbology textbooks; Neville Longbottom's for certain. The other had a book beside it that Draco recognised from the other day in the library—and a picture of a happily waving couple, one of which was clearly Harry's father because he was his double, and the other was a pretty green eyed witch with long red hair and a gleaming smile. Harry's mother was beautiful. Draco gravitated towards the photograph and picked it up to study it.

"Mate, are you alright?" Weasley asked. "I'm sorry about earlier—I don't know why you don't just tell Hermione…"

"What?" Draco was staring at the photograph so intently he barely caught what Weasley was saying. "I'm fine." He couldn't recall a single picture of his own parents that wasn't one hundred percent posed. Unless he counted the pictures from the trials when the last thing any of them had been thinking about had been which side looked best. Now his father languished in Azkaban whilst his mother was on house arrest which meant she couldn't even visit her husband.

Weasley shrugged, "If you're sure."

Draco put the photo down and eyed the bed dubiously. "When was the last time these sheets were changed?"

"Seriously, Harry—are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine!" Draco snapped and was surprised at the guilt he felt when Weasley's expression changed from concern to hurt. "Look, sorry, I'm just more tired than I realised that's all." He never thought he'd see the day that he, Draco Malfoy, apologised to Ron Weasley.

Weasley pulled his jumped over his head and began to hunt under his pillows for his pyjamas, pulling out a pair of hideous red tartan bottoms before and an old Cannons t-shirt which he pulled over his head. Draco turned away wondering where Harry kept his sleepwear. _Clean_ sleepwear. Hmm…clean—shower. Fuck, where the hell was the bathroom in this place?

Figuring it couldn't be that difficult to work out, he waved his wand—no, Harry's wand—and muttered under his breath, "Accio Harry's towel, Accio Harry's clean pyjamas."

"I haven't seen you use your wand for stuff like that since the war," Weasley said behind him. "I've been getting quite jealous of your wandless talents."

Draco stared down at Harry's hands—smaller than his own, more calloused and rougher to the touch, nails bitten down to the quick—wandless magic? He'd certainly seen no evidence of that when Harry was with him, which said that Harry didn't trust him—and why would he? Draco was many things, but lacking in self-awareness wasn't one of them. He knew how people saw him; failed Death Eater, stupid fucking yes man to his father—a person who'd not only chosen the wrong side, but known at the time that he was backing the wrong team but hadn't had the strength to stand up to his father.

"I'm trying not to overdo that…Ron," he said, heading for the door in search of the bathroom. The bathrooms were the door opposite. Three toilet cubicles, three showers and three sinks. Draco stared at himself as Harry in the mirror and rolled up Harry's left sleeve. No dark mark. Where Draco was tarnished forever, Harry was unblemished. He pulled Harry's thin t-shirt over his head and hung it on one of the hooks next to the sinks. Staring back into the mirror he trailed his eyes over Harry's upper torso, feeling guilty as he did so. Harry had scars, on his stomach, his chest; thin faint lines of old battle wounds, not unlike Draco's own scars on his chest. For someone so small, Harry was also surprisingly muscular.

He was as gorgeous as Draco had known he would be. "Make the most of it, Draco," he told the reflection. "This is the only time you're ever going to get to see him like this." Harry wasn't interested in him. Never would be. Draco had resigned himself to that back in sixth year—well, he'd first done that back when he was eleven when Harry had rejected his friendship, finding satisfaction in making his life a misery instead, but by sixth year, he'd have given anything for Harry to look at him without suspicion and hatred in his eyes. "You broke his nose, what did you expect," he said, sighing heavily. He regretted that even now—finding Harry spying on him like that had _hurt_ in ways he'd not been willing to admit to.

His hands hovered over Harry's belt buckle, meeting his own gaze in the mirror. He turned away and dropped Harry's muggle jeans and underwear and stepped into the shower. It might be attached to him—but he wouldn't look. He refused to sink to that.

**:::::**

Surprisingly he had fallen asleep quite quickly. Harry's sheets smelt slightly musky—much like Harry did in person, but it wasn't offensive and Draco hadn't let himself get worried about it.

Unfortunately, when he woke up, he had a rather uncomfortable case of morning wood—and when he was in his own body he invariable dealt with it swiftly, safe in in the security of his warded and silenced bed curtains. This wasn't his cock though, it was Harry's. He couldn't—he wanted to, Merlin knew he wanted to—all it would take was a few swift strokes and he'd be there. All he had to do was…

"Think of something unpleasant," he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and wracking his brain. His brain refused to co-operate, instead all that sprang to mind was Harry's naked upper torso, his flat stomach and happy trail leading downwards… "Oh fuck it," he said, reaching down to push his pyjama bottoms down his hips. It wasn't his fault—he was a teenage boy, this was normal. Harry was probably dealing with the same problem himself over in the Slytherin dorm…_Salazar_, he really should not be picturing that. He closed a hand around Harry's length with a contented—and guilty—sigh. Harry's cock was slightly slimmer than his own—although he had smaller hands so maybe that wasn't exactly correct? Nevertheless, as far as he could tell it was also slightly longer, and wonderfully, wonderfully smooth beneath the coolness of his palm. Draco ran his hands along the full length and bit his lip between his teeth to suppress a groan. Flicking the head with his thumb he discovered that Harry's cock was just as sensitive as his own. With a twist of his wrist he began to stroke, following the things he liked to do with his own cock, fondling his balls, stroking, stroking, stroking then pressure on the head and teasing out the precome, his heartbeat speeding up and his breathing becoming heavier as he coaxed himself to release. It was the same but different—his own body's orgasms always began in his toes and crept through the rest of him before exploding out of him, but Harry's body was different. It began in his belly and spread out to the rest of him before he came. It was fucking amazing. Draco lay there, belly covered in come and let his breathing return to normal and the guilt return. He'd crossed a line there but as small aftershocks shuddered through him he wasn't sure he could bring himself to care too much.

When he felt almost normal again he reached for his wand and cast a cleaning charm before disabling the wards on the bed and swinging his legs to the floor to push open the curtains. When he saw that there was no one else left in the room he sighed with relief. The last thing he felt in the mood for was making nice with a bunch of Gryffindors. No, he needed to get something to eat—and then he needed to find Harry before class to see if he'd found out what the box was, and if he'd found a solution. Bet or no, he wanted to be back inside his own skin sooner rather than later.

He found Harry in Sev's office at lunchtime having nearly missed breakfast earlier and having no time to look for him. Harry was sitting in Sev's chair with his feet up on the desk reading a book. "Did Pansy suss you out yet?" he asked, pushing himself up onto the desk and letting his feet dangle as he inspected what Harry had done to his appearance overnight. "What the hell have you done to my hair?" The obviously absence of any hair potion was a complete no-no in his book. No hair potion meant he wasn't in control of his hair, and his appearance had always been the one thing he could take pride in.

"What?" Harry lifted a hand and ran it through the soft strands of Draco's hair. "I think it looks better like this. And no, Pansy's not talking to you for some reason, so she's not going to notice that you're acting funny is she?"

Shit. He'd forgotten about that. It was the same old argument, the one they'd been having every other day since the war. Marriage. As in he'd decided that his parents could go and whistle if they thought he was marrying Astoria sodding Greengrass and becoming a perfect pureblood husband and father. He was exorcising his right to say no—the one he should have found a voice for back when it came to taking the Dark Mark. Pansy, on the other hand, had been betrothed by her parents to marry one Laurence Philpott-Smythe, and whilst that was the last thing she wanted to do, she was afraid of betraying her father's decree—even though both of her parents were enjoying a far longer sentence in Azkaban than Lucius Malfoy. Lucius had seen the error of his ways at the end and tried to do the right thing and this had given him a reduced sentence. The Parkinsons had not had the same epiphany.

"We've been arguing about our respective arranged marriages—and my hair _does not_ look better like that!"

Harry slammed the book closed and leant forwards. "You're getting married?" His voice was a low whisper and his eyes were wide with shock. "You never said."

"Why would I tell you my business, Harry?" Draco watched in fascination as Harry lowered his eyes and fiddled with the hem of the robes he was wearing.

Harry shrugged. "I thought we were friends now."

Draco blinked. "Oh," he managed, feeling like he'd been hit with a stunning hex. "Well I supposed we're not-enemies."

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Not-enemies. Right." He dropped his feet to the floor and pushed the book towards Draco, opening it up and pointing at a passage on page forty-seven.

Grateful for the distraction, Draco picked up the book and read the passage Harry had indicated. "The box is a Scire Inimicus?" He scanned the rest of the text. "Know your enemy… Up to seven days!"

"At least we know—it could be worse. It could've been permanent! You'll have your hair back and be free to marry someone you don't love again in less than a week."

"Oh fuck off, Harry, I'm not marrying anyone," Draco snarled, thinking it would be too easy just to add that he had no intention of marrying any witch, ever. What kind of miserable hell that would be—him a gay Wizard, trapped in a loveless marriage with someone he not only didn't love but who he didn't choose. That was the worst part of it—he could see himself marrying someone who was a friend on an understanding, at least they would have their friendship to see them through until they could legitimately go their separate ways. Not that he had any plans in that direction. That was just a worst case scenario. "Talking of people you don't love—Romilda someone asked you to Hogsmeade. I said no, so, sorry about that."

Harry shuddered. "Ugh. She never gives up that one. Remember when you poisoned that wine in sixth year?" Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Harry, who carried on anyway. "Well, I bet you didn't know that that reason Ron ended up drinking some was because Romilda had sent me some chocolates full of a love potion and Ron had ended up eating them—we'd gone to Slughorn for a remedy and that was when he offered us a glass of wine."

Draco tried to shove down the guilt. That had been the second person he'd almost killed that year. Thank Merlin he'd been so bad at it. He tried to force a laugh. "Good thing I said no then, hmm?"

"You could say that. Although you could have been the one going with her, not me, so—"

"Ew, don't!" Draco couldn't help but laugh.

Harry grinned back at him. "Shall we get on with this or did you have other plans for the afternoon?" They both had free periods, time they had taken to spending sorting Sev's things.

Draco eyed the gloom of Sev's quarters and thought about the late autumn sunshine outside. "Seeker's game?"

Harry's grinned widened. "Yes please."

**:::::**

"What happened there, Harry?" Weasley asked when he and Harry landed after the game, laughing happily from the wind in their hair and the love of Quidditch. As returning seventh years they weren't allowed on the house teams and Draco missed it. Okay, so he'd lost interest in the game around sixth year, but that hadn't been of his doing—he'd been more caught up in worry and fear to have time for sport. "I saw you from the window. I've never seen Draco whoop you like that."

Draco couldn't help a smirk. Obviously Harry _had _won, even in Harry's body Draco hadn't managed to outfly him. But Weasley didn't know that. "I must be losing my touch, eh, Draco?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You must be," he replied. "I don't know how you put up with him, Weasley," he said, and headed towards the changing rooms.

"I don't 'put up with him', Draco, thank you very much—Harry's my best mate!" Harry didn't turn back so Weasley turned back to him. "So you're spending leisure time with him as well now?"

"I hadn't realised I needed your approval, Ron," Draco said, annoyed on Harry's behalf as well as his own. "He's good company." He turned his head towards the changing rooms, wanting to follow Harry.

"Harry—be careful."

Draco turned back, an angry retort on his lips, but when he saw Weasley's face he stopped. "What do you mean?"

Weasley sighed. "I know you think he's changed, Harry, and I want to believe you for your sake—but I'm just saying tread carefully. I'd hate to see you hurt."

"I…care for him?" Draco asked, wondering what the hell had gone before that Weasley would be saying this now.

"I'll see you later, Harry," Ron said, shaking his head as he turned away, and Draco wanted to call him back and demand to know what he and Harry had talked about for him to be under the impression that Harry was vulnerable to being _hurt_ by Draco. Weasley wasn't talking physical hurt either, that much was clear. What was he missing?

This being in Harry's body thing was equal parts a revelation and a frustration!

He stared after Weasley for a long moment before turning away and following Harry down to the changing rooms. When he got there Harry was coming out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips—Draco's hips. "Don't forget the hair potion," Draco said, dragging his clothes over his head and heading into the shower.

"I told you I prefer it like this!" Harry called after him.

Draco smiled. Harry was the single most stubborn person he'd ever encountered, and he was pretty good at digging his heels in himself. His hair was doomed.

**:::::**

That evening at dinner Draco sat in between Weasley and Granger like a Slytherin sandwich and glared over at the Slytherin table where Harry, as Draco, sat with Blaise, laughing hard at something he'd said and wondering what would happen if he hexed Blaise's cutlery to attack him. Blaise was an out and out flirt, and he was very good at it. Draco rather enjoyed the banter, but nothing ever came of it, because—well, Blaise was Blaise, he was a charmer and yes he was attractive but he'd never held any thrall for Draco. Draco had only ever had eyes for one person—pathetic as that was. Blaise had said on more than one occasion this year that now that Harry had won the war—and wasn't that the hottest thing by the way?—that he'd like to 'have a go' at him. Draco hadn't risen to the bait because half of him knew that Blaise was only saying it to get a reaction out of him and Draco didn't want to play that game.

"You're staring at him again," Weasley observed between mouthfuls of steak and kidney pie.

Draco yanked his gaze away. "What do you mean 'again'?" he asked, curious. He'd caught Harry staring at him once or twice, but as he'd been staring at Harry at the time he could hardly draw conclusions from that.

Weasley shot him a baffled look. "Harry, are you sure you're okay?" He took another mouthful of pie and shot a concerned glance towards Granger who was making a poor job of pretending not to listen.

Draco stared down at his own dinner, steaming unappetisingly in front of him and sighed. Who knew that Harry's friends were so—caring? His own friends—Blaise, Pansy, Greg—it sometimes felt it was all about who could do what for who. Okay, maybe not with Greg, Greg was stupidly loyal—at least he had been to Vince. Now Vince had gone he'd transferred his loyalty to Draco as though he had to have someone to believe in. Draco was not worthy of that loyalty, he knew that. It was his fault that Vince was dead.

Sometimes the blood on his hands ran like a river.

"Harry?"

Belatedly the voice penetrated. "Huh—what?"

"Come on," Granger said. "Let's go back to the common room."

Draco allowed himself to be led by Granger and Weasley and sat down in a chair by the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"Harry, we're worried about you," Granger said, her expression reflecting her words. "You're like a zombie lately. The only thing you're interested in is Snape's collection, Draco and flying. This isn't like you. I know the war affected you more than most—and I can't begin to imagine what it must've been like for you to actually _die_ and come back like you did—but you lived, you're here and you're _alive_ and we're worried that you don't appreciate what that means."

"I—" Draco began, fumbling over what to say next. What did he know about how Harry felt? Draco hadn't seen any of that when Harry was with him—Harry was just as annoying and gorgeous as he always had been as far as Draco was concerned. He thought nothing of needling Draco, of getting under his skin in a way that no one else ever could. "I appreciate that you both care so much, but this is something that isn't going to be fixed overnight."

"Mate, we understand that," Weasley said, sharing a 'meaningful look' with Granger.

"We've all suffered, Harry," Granger said. "Fred, Remus, Tonks—"

Draco jumped to his feet. "I have to go," he said, pushing past them and out of the portrait hole. He ran back to the great hall and was pleased to find Harry was still at the Slytherin table and had looked up when he entered. He indicated with a tip of his head that he wanted to talk to Harry and left again, waiting outside the doors.

When Harry came out of the double doors Draco grabbed his wrist and said, "We're going for a walk."

To his credit Harry allowed Draco to tow him outside in silence. Draco headed for the lake, finally sinking down onto the damp grass and crossing his legs in front of him.

"Your friends just staged a 'we're worried about you, Harry' intervention," he said, watching Harry for a reaction. "They seem to think that the only things you care about are Snape's collection, flying and spending time with me."

Harry flushed. The pale skin of Draco's features colouring a rosy red that would be far less noticeable on his own darker skin. "They should mind their own business." He fidgeted and stared miserably ahead at the lake.

"Is it true?" Draco couldn't help pushing. He found that he was concerned…and hopeful.

"It's true that you're the only person who treats me just like you always did. I mean—I know we sort of get on now and we didn't used to but it took a few weeks of bickering for us to actually enjoy spending time together, I know—" Harry cast him a shifty glance. "At least _I_ enjoy spending time with you. But you don't treat me like anything special, you know?"

"I don't understand. You _are_ special, Harry," Draco said. "You saved the world over and over again—you defeated the vilest most evil Wizard who ever lived and were willing to sacrifice yourself to do so. You saved my worthless life when Merlin knows you should have left me in that room to burn to death—"

"No! I could never—" Harry's hands were shaking. "I'm just sorry that Crabbe perished, that I couldn't…"

Harry drew in a shaky breath and pulled his knees up to his chin. Draco had to fight the urge to put his arm around him. Instead he said, "You're only human, Harry—you can't save everyone."

"I know," Harry said in a small voice. "I know."

**:::::**

When he got back to the Gryffindor common room later that evening Draco was pulled to one side by the girl Weasley. The common room was almost deserted now as it was getting late, and when Draco found himself being dragged into the corner he realised she was stronger than she looked.

"Harry, when are you going to stop avoiding me?" she asked, hands on hips, glinting blue eyes fixed upon him. "I've said I'm sorry a thousand times! It only happened once and it didn't mean anything—I told you that."

She was pretty enough, Draco couldn't deny that, slender with a Quidditch player's figure, and he strongly suspected she was quite a handful—metaphorically—but she'd _cheated _on Harry? What kind of a moron had Harry Potter as their own and made a mistake like that?

"Once is one time too many," he said, watching the tears form in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. If I can't trust you I can't be with you."

She sniffed loudly and reached into her robes for a handkerchief to dab her eyes. "I've really blown it haven't I?" she whispered and at Draco's nod—Merlin, he hoped Harry was on the same page here, but in his book, someone cheats once then they'll cheat again—she flung herself at him, sobbing into his neck. "I'm sorry, Harry, I really am." Draco closed his arms around her tentatively and patted her back feeling more uncomfortable than he'd felt in a long time.

"Um—it's okay," he consoled, testing the water. "We can be friends can't we?"

She pulled back and looked directly into his eyes before nodding. "I hope so," she said, wiping her nose. Draco hoped he didn't have snot all over his robes. She smiled wanly and released her hold on him. "Thanks, Harry."

She disappeared up the stairs leaving Draco staring after her through narrowed eyes. That little scene had answered so many questions, but raised many more. Like was she the reason why Harry was so down? Had her betrayal broken his heart? Draco did not like that idea at all. More over—what the hell was her name?

**:::::**

"I don't want to do this anymore," Harry said the next day as they sorted through a box of trinkets in Snape's office. This was what they did: they'd arrive, get started on something, and then the conversation would start. If they talked before they started work Draco had concluded that it felt too much like actually socialising together—like they were actual friends—if they started conversing after the work began then somehow it didn't count, at least that was how it had been on day one, now it was more habit than anything else.

Draco put the box onto the desk, his heart beating out of his chest. This time spent here doing this was what had been keeping him going since coming back to school. Harry's company had become a soothing balm to this constant feeling of gloom that followed him everywhere he went, except when he was with Harry. "Do what?" he asked, turning to face Harry who had sat in Snape's desk chair and was making great work of staring down at his hands.

"This bet—pretending to be you—I don't like the deception."

Draco relaxed slightly. "I thought for a minute that you meant this." He swept his arm to indicate the room.

"Merlin—no—I love doing this. I just—last night Parkinson came to me, apologised and broke down in tears about how she doesn't want this arranged marriage, and I felt such a fraud!"

"Oh," Draco managed. "That doesn't sound like it was much fun." Understatement: Pansy could be kind of intense. He couldn't help feel some relief that she'd ended their fall-out though. The girl could be a pain in the arse, but she was one of his only friends and he'd hated the stand-off.

"Um," Harry began. "She also asked me—well, you obviously—if you'd made a move on me yet." Draco's own grey eyes stared back at him, as blank as Draco's best emotionless expression allowed.

Draco closed his eyes. Fuck. "I don't know what she was on about," he denied. "You shouldn't take any notice of her, she's had some wild ideas in recent months about how I could better the Malfoy name and one of them was to get with you and be Golden by association."

Harry's voice was weary when he asked, "Right. And what did you say about that, Draco?" He got to his feet before Draco could reply. "I'm going to McGonagall to tell her what happened with the box. Sod the bet; I want to be me again."

"But we could revert at any time now!" Draco protested. "Look—forget the bet, I agree, but what good will come of us coming clean now? The Weasleys and Granger—Pansy—how do you think they'll feel if they found out that we've been deceiving them this whole time?"

Harry, half way to the door, paused and turned. "Fine," he grumbled. "But we spend as much time away from there as possible. Here—or we go flying—I don't want to be making nice with your friends any more than I have to. I thought this would be fun but it's not."

Draco's traitorous brain cast back to his morning wank—how the last two times he'd explored every inch of the body he was inhabiting, his eyes closed as he pictured himself in his own body doing it to Harry—_that_ had been fun. Harry was right though, everything else was a bind. He'd gained a new respect for Weasley and Granger—as awkward as it had been, they cared for Harry deeply and Draco had to wonder what it must be like to be on the receiving end.

"Hang on a minute," Harry said. "You said 'the Weasleys'—have you been talking to Ginny?"

Draco sighed. So the girl-Weasley was called Ginny. "Last night. She wanted to know if you were going to stop avoiding her. She said 'it only happened once' and that it was a 'one-time thing'."

"Fuck. Sorry about that, I should have warned you," Harry said, rubbing his chin. "What did you say?"

"I said that 'once is one time too many' and that I couldn't be with someone I didn't trust." He hoped he'd done the right thing. What if Harry had been planning on forgiving her and Draco had just blown his chance out of the water? Had Draco really only been thinking of himself and his own feelings for Harry when he'd told her that? He'd spoken from the heart though—knowing how he would feel if it had been him who'd been cheated on. If he'd learnt one thing out of this whole sorry mess that was his life these last couple of years is that trust was important—no, not just _important_—it was fundamental. He'd trusted his father and he'd been betrayed to a madman. Trust wasn't something to be given freely: it had to be earned.

Harry blinked and stared at Draco open mouthed.

"Did I say the wrong thing?" Draco asked, feeling sick. "If you wanted to forgive her I can—"

"No!" Harry shook his head rapidly. "No—that's perfect. That's exactly what I should have said if I hadn't been avoiding her. I—I mean I feel guilty because when I was away with Ron and Hermione looking for Horcruxes, I barely gave her a thought and I'd been so—I don't know?—smitten with her before it all went to shit with Voldemort. I just…didn't miss her and that should have told me something, right? I had Ron and Hermione and Merlin knows I love them, but my head was full of Horcruxes and Dumbledore and…" His gaze flicked up to Draco's guiltily and he trailed off. "You did the right thing—thank you."

"Let's go flying now," Draco suggested, suddenly desperate for the wind in his hair and an escape from the tension that had descended.

Harry smiled. "You're on."

**:::::**

Draco still didn't manage to beat Harry in best of five, but he did manage to win one game, which felt like a tiny victory in his life long battle to best Harry at Quidditch.

"You played well," Harry said as they headed for the changing rooms. "I mean, you'll never beat _me_ but—"

"Hey!" Draco protested, pretending to go for Harry's neck. "Maybe I'm just hustling you and one day I'll swoop in and steal the thunder."

"I don't think you'd have the patience for that, you're all about the instant glory," Harry said with a raised eyebrow before winking and saying, "Last one into the showers is a Warbeck fan!"

Okay, so now Draco really was at a disadvantage with Harry in his longer limbed body he didn't stand a chance at winning that race. So when Harry ran off ahead, Draco kept on walking at his steady pace, casually entering the changing rooms and finding the changing area empty he shed his clothes and headed into the showers.

He stopped dead when he found Harry had already stripped off and was staring at himself—Draco's body—in the mirror. Draco swallowed, feeling suddenly exposed, which was stupid really, because he'd done the same thing to Harry's body that morning before his shower and that had been _after_ he'd explored every inch and wanked himself raw.

"See something you like?" he heard himself ask, and where the hell that had come from Draco had no clue, but Harry met his eyes in the mirror and Draco saw the truth reflected back at him. Harry liked what he saw very much. Draco took a step forwards, then two, until he was standing beside Harry. "Have you touched my body, Harry?" he asked, keeping his eyes locked on Harry's in the glass.

Harry swallowed, a slow flush mottling his skin. He nodded.

Feeling brave now Draco pressed on, "Show me," he said. "I want to see."

Harry gulped and raised a hand, palm flat, traced a path over his chest, following the lines of Draco's scars. "I put those there," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I deserved them," Draco replied, remembering how he'd wished for death that day—anything to release him from the hell that his life had become. The pain of that attack had woken him up—only by then it had been too late and he'd had no choices left. "Wh-where did you touch me next?"

Harry tweaked a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, biting his lip to stop himself crying out—Draco had very sensitive nipples. Two palms now moved south, a forefinger circling his belly button as another hand moved through the pale blond curls on his abdomen on a determined path to reach his cock which was already at half-mast. Draco felt his own cock stir, and Merlin, this was the oddest thing as he was technically watching himself fondle _himself_ which he shouldn't find hot, but the fact that it was his body and Harry was in control— A low groan slipped from his lips and on autopilot he reached over and met Harry's hand where it was now wrapped around his cock.

"Let's—you do me and I'll…" Harry didn't need Draco to draw him a diagram. He turned so that he was facing Draco, his hand reaching out to wrap around his cock and there they were, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, furiously wanking each other off in the Quidditch changing rooms, only actually, they were wanking their own cocks—each knowing how their own bodies reacted to pressure at certain points—and it didn't take long, Harry resting one hand on Draco's hipbone, Draco dropping his head forward against Harry's shoulder. It was good—better than good because this was the first time anyone had ever touched him like this other than himself. Dark Lords and secret missions were not conducive to romance, and he'd never wanted anyone else anyway had he? It had always been Harry. Always.

When he came, he came hard, painting his stomach with his release. Harry took a little longer, his eyes wide and fixed on Draco's hand where the head of his cock was appearing and disappearing into the circle of Draco's fist. "Mnngh—Draco!" Harry shouted when his release shook through him. "Fuck—"

They stayed there unable to move, Draco with his head on Harry's shoulder, Harry with a hand curled around Draco's hip and the other still on his softened cock. That was until Draco felt it—the guilty aftermath—this was _Harry_ and this was a fool's game, because Harry was never going to be his and by giving into this he was just setting himself up for more heartbreak and disappointment. Harry was too good for him by far and Draco might not always have appreciated that but he knew it now—Harry had saved the world, he was a hero, and Draco was one of the people he had had to fight to save it from. Draco was a bad person, weak, easily led—he'd made all the wrong choices and was only alive today because of Harry—was only a free man…because of Harry.

The guilt turned to panic. "I—have to go," he said, pushing back from Harry and turning towards the changing room again. He could shower in the dorm. He had to get away from Harry.

"Draco—where..?" Harry started but Draco had yanked on his trousers, not caring that there was come drying on his stomach as he shoved his feet into his boots—without bothering with socks—and pulled a t-shirt over his head. He grabbed the rest of the things and stuffed them into his bag, almost flying for the door, ignoring Harry's calling of his name as he left.

When he made it outside his fight died and he slumped against the wall, trying to calm his thundering heart in his chest. He'd planned to go back to the dorm but he couldn't face it—not at the moment. Instead, walked around the side of the changing rooms and dropped to a crouch, listening for Harry's departure which came about ten minutes later. Once he was certain Harry was gone, he went back into the changing room and stripped off again before heading into the shower.

When he came out he stopped in front of the semi steamed up mirror to stare at himself—in Harry's body—hands folded behind his neck in an effort not to touch.

"Why'd it have to be you?" he asked his reflection. He reached out one hand and pressed it against the coolness of the glass, palm flat, little droplets of water trailing down the surface. He stared into the green eyes that belonged to Harry Potter and said, "Why'd I have to love _you_?"

**:::::**

The next thirty-six hours were a special kind of hell for Draco. He avoided the Gryffindors as much as possible but he didn't spend that time with Harry as they'd agreed upon before the _thing_ that happened. No, instead he became very closely acquainted with an empty classroom on the third floor, and when Harry tried to waylay him at dinner or after a class, Draco found solace with Weasley and Granger, complaining that Malfoy was 'being an arse' and that he didn't want to talk to him. Weasley and Granger were good like that—worried about him, as Harry, for being so withdrawn, but closing ranks around him to protect him from the big bad Slytherin—even if both of them looked baffled at the goings on, Granger repeating on some kind of loop about how Harry and Draco got on so well these days that it was a shame if they had fallen out, Weasley wanting to know what had 'really happened'.

Draco was just counting down the hours—even though he didn't know how many he had left until he could reclaim himself. It didn't matter that he'd fooled Harry's friends into thinking he was them and vice versa, that technically, so far the bet was a draw. What mattered was getting through this with some kind of dignity, knowing that he was going to have to face Harry sooner or later, but he'd just rather do it when he was him again.

On Saturday morning he woke up in the Slytherin dorm in his own bed, and sighed in happy relief that he was himself again. He held up his hands in front of his face and stared at his own hands, familiarising himself, sliding his hands down across the flat plain of his stomach, closing his eyes and celebrating being Draco Malfoy again. Being Harry had been so _weird_.

He parted the bed curtains and sidled out of bed. Blaise was the only person left in the room, standing in front of the mirror fiddling with his hair. "Morning," Draco mumbled, pushing himself to his feet and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

Blaise turned to appraise him. "Time we were at breakfast," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Have you been crying? Your eyes are all red."

"No," Draco huffed. "I'm just tired that's all."

Blaise shrugged. "So, are you going to tell me yet why you and Potter aren't talking? Did he make a move on you?" His eyes glinted dreamily as he appeared to drift away with that thought. "If he did, you're a lucky bugger and you ought to go and grab him, Draco—I swear he's got it bad for you—he never stops staring at you."

Draco recalled the amount of staring he'd done at dinnertimes in the direction of the Slytherin table these past few days. "Only this week," he said sadly, scanning the room for his hairbrush and gel. "Have you seen my gel?"

"You threw it away, remember? And you look all the better for it—much less uptight!" Blaise reached out and ruffled his head. "As for Potter staring at you—are you blind? He's hasn't been able to take his eyes off you since we came back this year. Trust me—it's rather disappointing because he never looks my way and I'm _clearly_ the better option."

Draco scowled. "In your dreams," he huffed, trying to think back to the start of the year. Had he spent so much time trying _not_ to look at Harry that he'd missed the fact that Harry was staring at him all that time?

Blaise pulled on his robes. "Hurry up or you'll miss breakfast," he said, heading for the door. "Don't worry about Potter; I'll make sure he's got something to keep his eyes busy." He winked and left with a swish of his robes.

Draco sighed and headed for the bathroom, took a quick shower and after dressing he went down to breakfast, his eyes immediately drawn to the Gryffindor table and Harry Potter, finding his goal immediately—bright green eyes trailing his path across the hall to the Slytherin table. Draco looked away, and with his back to Harry, closed his eyes and willed his stupid heart to slow down. It didn't mean anything—after what had happened between them in the changing rooms the other day of course Harry was looking at him; he probably wanted to make sure Draco realised it was a stupid one off thing and nothing more.

Draco sat down between Blaise and Pansy and helped himself to tea and toast. He wasn't hungry, in fact he felt a little sick, but maybe a few sips of tea would settle him.

"Are you coming into Hogsmeade with us today, Draco?" Pansy asked when Draco had imbibed a few soothing mouthfuls of tea and was feeling a little calmer.

Draco glanced over at Harry. These last few Saturdays he'd spent in Sev's old office with him, refusing all invites to Hogsmeade, enjoying himself too much with Harry—although he'd told himself at the time that it was the love of the old artefacts that was the attraction. He met Harry's gaze full on, and Harry smiled—it was a tight nervous smile, but it was a smile nonetheless—Draco wanted to smile back but he felt frozen. He looked away and said, "Try and stop me, Pans. What time are we leaving?"

**:::::**

He'd hoped the trip to Hogsmeade might keep his mind off Harry, but after he'd spent far too much money on chocolates from Honeydukes and Blaise and Pansy suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks—one he'd declined because, well, Madame Rosmerta—he'd found himself alone and trailing back to the castle in slow motion because he didn't want to be there, he didn't want to be anywhere—he just wanted to hide away somewhere. Why the hell had he come back for this last year? He could have taken his NEWTs with a private tutor, or just taken off somewhere—somewhere _away._ In fact, starting a new life somewhere new was incredibly appealing. He could do that now—he didn't have to stay at Hogwarts, this year was entirely optional. He could just quit and go. He could, he _should_. Yes—that's what he would do. It wouldn't take him long to pack up his things—he could send word of his leaving for good once he'd gone. It's not like anyone would care, not really.

Bolstered by his decision, both excited and scared, he hastened his return to the castle and was alone in the dorm summoning his things into his trunk within half-an-hour of making the decision. When he was done he gave the room one final glance and shrinking his trunk, he left for the last time.

There was just one thing left to do—Sev had in his collection an old Atlas of the Wizarding world. He'd stick a pin in it and find his destination in there—somewhere on the other side of the world where no one knew him. He'd go far away from here and far away from Harry.

_He would never see Harry Potter again._ If he felt like he wanted to cry then that would pass. He needed to have a life without Harry in it in order to see that he wasn't all that there was; after all, he'd been Draco's all in some sense for the past seven years. Maybe if Harry were removed from the equation Draco could move on.

He sidled into Sev's old office and put his shrunken luggage on his desk and made a beeline for the bookcase where he knew the atlas to be.

"Where have you been?" _Fuck_, it was Harry—Draco had wrongly assumed he wouldn't be here when Draco hadn't turned up hours before. Harry's voice sounded clogged up with indignance.

"None of your business," Draco replied, making a show of scanning the bookcase and refusing to turn to face Harry.

"Draco—" Harry started before changing tack. "Is that your _trunk_?" Draco heard a couple of muttered words and Draco's trunk enlarged and promptly fell off Snape's desk and burst open on the floor.

"Well done, Potter," Draco snapped, giving up in his search for the atlas to turn his attention to his spilled belongings. "I can always count on you to mess up my order."

"You're leaving?" Harry whispered, staring at the contents of Draco's trunk, his face pale. He raised his eyes to meet Draco's, full of accusation and—was that _hurt_?

Draco swallowed. "What if I am? What's it got to do with you what I do?"

"But I thought we—I hoped—" Harry floundered, dropping his gaze and slumping into Sev's old chair. "Were you even going to say goodbye?"

Guilt crept through Draco—an old friend to him now—and he found himself answering honestly, "No I wasn't. I didn't think you'd care." Harry's shoulders drooped and Draco took a step forwards, suddenly overtaken with a need to comfort him. "W-was I wrong?" He felt as though time slowed down. Harry looked up at him again, and Draco saw it in his eyes—

"You didn't think I'd care? Thanks for the trust, Draco. You know, since the war, people fall over themselves to be my friend—they flatter me and suck up to me and think that they can be the one to 'save' me, Merlin knows what from as Voldemort's dead and there was no bigger threat than him—the only people I could trust were the people who I'd been friends with for years, and _you_, Draco. You never sucked up to me, you never flattered me, you treated me like you always had—okay so we grew up and we stopped the fighting—spending time with you has been what's kept me sane since coming back." Harry rubbed the back of his neck wearily and shook his head. "Forget it. If you're going—just go."

"Harry—"

"You know, I thought that what happened between us the other day _meant_ something," Harry said, standing up again and taking a step towards Draco. "I'd wanted you for so long I couldn't believe it when you started to talk to me like you did. I mean, I know it was weird being in each other's body and all that, but in many ways it just made me want you more—when I understood what it was like to be you for a while, the way people treat you…"

"Harry—"

"…and I'm obviously a total fool for thinking—"

"Harry!" Draco had to raise his voice to break through Harry's rambling. Harry's jaw snapped shut and his face suffused with colour. Draco shuffled closer. "Harry—it meant something, okay? It meant something."

"Oh." Harry's face split into the most beautiful smile Draco had ever seen. He reached out and cupped Draco's cheek. "Well, that's good. That's, yeah, amazing actually." Soft lips captured his and all of Draco's coherent thoughts drifted away. Harry pulled back. "You'll stay?"

Draco nodded, pulling Harry back close. "I'll stay." He kissed him again.

**:::::**

Several months later: end of eighth year

Draco shrank the last box with a happy sigh. That was the last of Sev's things, catalogued and packed away to go into storage when term ended, which was just a couple of days away now. It had taken them until now to get it finished—longer than they'd originally forecast, probably due to the slight distraction of wanting to jump Harry's bones every time he was near him. Okay, so that was a problem he'd had for a while—but when he'd finally got permission to touch him whenever he liked, Draco liked rather a lot and very often.

It hadn't been easy to start with. Draco's guilt and his conviction that he wasn't worthy of someone like Harry Potter had taken a lot of kisses and declarations of affection from Harry before he'd started to believe that Harry's feelings for him were genuine—that Harry's telling him he'd started having feelings for him in sixth year and had been torn between wanting to catch him in the act of whatever he was up to and wanting to protect him—the those words were real.

"You can do better than me—you _deserve_ better than me," Draco had said one time, a couple of months into their relationship, when he'd witnessed Harry rejecting a handsome Ravenclaw who wanted to take him for dinner into Hogsmeade. Their own relationship was still a secret at that point, save for Blaise, Greg, Pansy, Granger and Weasley of course, and it still seemed that every other day Harry was being hit on by someone or other. It had made Draco sick to the stomach.

"You think you're not worth it," Harry had said in reply, settling himself into Draco's lap, straddling him, an arm on either side of his head as he searched Draco's eyes. "Get it into your head that you're worth it to me," and he'd leant forwards and kissed him, and of course, one kiss had led to another which had led to fast and frantic fucking in Sev's chair, and when they were both sated, Harry's face buried in the crook of Draco's neck he'd said, "You're worth it, Draco and I love you."

It was shortly after that they came out as a couple. Draco had been cast as the villain of the piece, seducing the hero with his nefarious wiles, but Harry had stood up to everyone, telling them to back off Draco or deal with him. That had kind of turned Draco on.

"Is that the last one?" Harry asked, appearing in the doorway looking somewhat frazzled. He'd spent the morning completing the practical Auror entry exam along with twelve other hopefuls from this school year.

"Yep, last one, finally." Draco held out his arms and Harry stepped forwards, letting the door click closed behind him as he filled the space Draco had just created between this thighs. "How'd it go?"

"Good," Harry said, nibbling his lower lip, a gesture Draco now recognised as a nervous habit.

"But?"

"But I don't think I want to become an Auror, in fact I'm certain I don't, I think I'd rather be an Unspeakable—so I just talked to Kingsley and that's what I'm doing—but first, I want to travel for a while, just us, and—" He swept an arm around the room. "—new magical artefacts to discover and places to explore…"

Draco couldn't hold back his smile. He'd been thinking about travelling a while, visiting other cultures, learning about magical artefacts—and when he came back perhaps going to university and getting a degree—but the travelling first. The only thing holding him back had been leaving the thought of leaving Harry behind…that had _never_ been and option. "I love you, Harry Potter," Draco said, pulling Harry into the cage of his arms and dropping their foreheads together. He'd never said it before, despite Harry being free with telling Draco how he felt about him. He'd always been afraid that despite everything, something would go wrong, they'd leave Hogwarts and their relationship would fizzle out, but the longer he was with Harry and the more he knew him, the more those fears faded. Harry's declaration now wiped away the last doubts remnants of his distrust.

"Finally," Harry breathed with a laugh. He took Draco's hands and placed them on his arse. "Now prove it."

**:::::**


End file.
